


Not Done Yet

by Morgan



Series: Grace Under Fire [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: Follows Under Fire directly, as in - pure unadulterated PWP and it came about simply because Sam made it clear that he was not done yet. Dean won't argue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Sam is laying by Dean's side, slow slide of his hand down Dean's chest measuring his breathing, maybe just taking in his level of exhaustion. His face is calm, but intent and Dean thinks "Jesus" and how good it would be to just drift off like this despite the mess and a few days scruff and road dirt on him.

Sam's fingers stutter down his stomach, trip and get caught in the sweaty t-shirt. Dean isn't really paying attention, too wrung out, until Sam's hand slinks inside his jeans and he's sucking in a breath that just winds up giving Sam more room to work. Long fingers idle a little at the start of his pubic hair and then slide right through the slick of Dean's spent and he suddenly can't breathe at all.

Too much, too soon, too sensitive still and he's not ready for the wide rogue smile on Sam's face. The curse on his lips comes out more like a beg than a warning. Sam leans in, nuzzles a little at the crook of his neck.

-Want to lick you clean, Sam says and his fingers spread wider.

Why is Sam still so fucking awake, Jesus, Dean should have sucked the restless energy right out of him, but he's soft laughing against Dean's skin and slippy sliding his fingers and Sam is evil, that's all there is to it. Good kind of evil. Best kind. Good and slow now that the edge is taken off. Maybe not all the way off, not judging from how warm Sam is next to him, how his limbs are shifting, inching closer, dragging contact.

-Should see yourself like this, Sam murmurs and yeah, there we go, not so tired after all. Damn.

"Right back at you, kid", Dean thinks and settles his backbone deeper into the mattress. Sam is... there's not a good word for it, eyes gone liquid and a little feral, something hinting at smugness around his mouth, the half aborted curve of a smirk and a good measure of road weariness there too, being shoved aside because of this thing right here.

Dean nods once. Sam hikes up his eyebrows and the smirk takes over. Bossy, yeah, yeah, but if Dean opens his mouth right now he's just going to yawn. There's kind of a mood. It says good things about where all this is going and Dean is all for that, really. Sam undoes his belt. Pops the buttons. Dean watches him do this and really, come on, he's not sixteen anymore, but there's an interested spike in his pulse. Sam's hair falls into his eyes and it bothers Dean that he can't read the expression there.

Sam slithering lower on the bed makes it less important, though.

Sam starts with delicate little focused licks at the hem of Dean's boxers. Come on. It's not fair the things Sam does to him. He works over the patch of skin from Dean's navel and on down, happy trail for sure and getting happier which is all kinds of absolutely ridiculous if it wasn't for the flat of Sam's hand against his stomach and the way he folds himself over Dean's legs like he has to keep him in place.

It's just Sam. This is just the way he is.

Sam is goddamned humming to himself under his breath and it’s like the purr of a large cat against Dean’s skin. It’s just nice.

-We’re not done, Sam says and his exhalation skates down Dean’s exposed hip and no, no, they’re not.

-Is that so? Dean drawls at him.

Sam hooks two fingers in the lining of Dean's boxers and drags it down a little, glances up and gives him a heated look that's about as solid as a slap. Okay, alright. Fine. They’re not done.

Funny thing. Sam is so confident like this, so completely sure that Dean will go along with whatever he wants. He's not wrong, well, most of the time he's not wrong and if Sam wants now, he gets it, because he's Sam and Dean's always been a little stupid like that. Besides, arguing the guy who has his mouth about an inch from the prize is just dumb. Dean didn't survive this long by being dumb.

Slowly, slowly Dean stretches himself out, letting all his muscles tense and then release completely in a long stretch that Sam has no choice but to ride the way he’s laid out across Dean’s body. Dean knows what that feels like under your hands and it's good enough that Sam's eyes half-close from the pure physicality of having someone under you like that. Dean grins at him, aware. Sam takes it for what it is. Permission, agreement, ‘whatever you want, Sammy’, all those things wrapped up with a neat bow.

He goes back to the task at hand, licking at Dean, long flat sweeps of his tongue, and really... that's just. Yeah. Sam cleans him with the same focus he gives everything he finds important or interesting. It's making Dean squirmy all over, ramping up skin awareness and the kick in his pulse and things start grading back to the now, post refractory period history and Dean's pretty sure Sam wants to fuck him.

Which, you know. Alright. Sam's right hand splayed in casual ownership high up on his thigh and his leg slung over Dean's and that's more heat and contact than Dean expected given the righteous amount of attitude he's been getting all day.

-Thought you were pissed at me, Dean gets out and his voice is gravel rough with a hint of squirmy to it.

-Just freaked, Sam gives back between long rasping strokes with his tongue through the hair around the base of Dean's cock which is valiantly taking an interest in the proceedings.

Dean slides his hand into Sam's hair, snags a little, Sam needs a shower too, needs to get clean of all this and the last few days of hard driving. Needs to be worked out and washed down, images in Dean's mind of his own hands rubbing soap down strong thighs and calves and maybe there will be time for all that later. Sam's head leaned back into the spray and Dean keeping him there until Sam's skin turns to wet silk under his hands and his hair is soaked black. Later.

Sam takes him into his mouth, all the way easy now because he's not hard, no way he could get there just yet, but still the strong pull of Sam’s mouth feels like it plucks at things in Dean's lower intestine. Christ. Sam pulls off and levels his gaze at Dean.

-Batter up, he says and grins.

That wicked glimmer is back in his eyes.

-Yeah, yeah, alright. Naked, though, Sam.

-Fuck, yeah.

Sam raises himself up on knees and elbows and Dean's hand slips free so he tries to get to his own shirt, but Sam is already over him looming like a shadow and getting that determined set to his mouth that means he wants something first. Kisses Dean like he's not sure he'll ever get a second chance to.

It's not the sweet languorous kiss Dean somehow thought he would get after all that licking. Sam gets right down to it, hard and claiming, tongue stroking along Dean's own in a rough sweep that gives Dean's taste back to him and that... that makes his heart bang hard and his breath stutter and his hands go to Sam's arms and yeah, so he moans into it.

The radio in the next room wall to wall suddenly comes to life playing overloud and they can both hear it clear and true through the wall "hunk-a, hunk-a burning love" and it's just ridiculous and makes Sam break the kiss and give a short laugh.

-Oh, wow, Sam says. “Soundtrack and everything”.

For a brief weird spell they’re both laughing, kind of helpless under it, it’s just too perfectly absurd. The song thankfully cuts of mid-hunka and there’s a few seconds where Dean thinks it might all have gotten fucked over, but then Sam’s eyes light on his and no, hell no, it hasn’t. It’s still on. Sam’s eyes grade from amusement to mischief and then sidle into something deeper, warmer. He touches his lips to Dean’s again. Not gentle, not really, but deep and sure and thorough.

Dean is helping him get naked without losing contact, the kiss slipping a little and breaking when Sam pulls back to get his t-shirt off. They always move like a well coordinated unit anyway, rhythm there from years of training and years of working as a team, and they’re the same in this, of course they are and it’s just easy. It’s so easy it should have become boring a long time ago, but one quick grazing caress down Dean’s side, a little nothing touch, and he’s good to go again so, no, it’s never going to get boring.

Sam drags the comforter off the bed and Dean sprawls on top of the covers, limbs every which way. Sam is up on his hands and knees again, just looking at him.

-So, where were we? Sam asks.

-I believe you were about to get naked?

-Ah, yes. I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing. How about you do the rest for me? Sam says and it’s puckish enough that Dean rolls his eyes and sets his hands to Sam’s waist.

Dean sticks his hands inside Sam’s jeans along the deadly cut of his hips, palms to his skin and caresses them down, off, groping his ass along the way. They bunch a little when Dean hits Sam’s knees, but fuck, the kid is graceful as hell when he needs to be, twisting and helping and Dean can’t help appreciating how dexterously Sam uses his monkey feet to take his socks off with just his toes. It doesn’t exactly hurt that all that shimmying around makes them rub together like crazy.

It’s a lot of muscle and bone and naked skin and ohgod, Sam is getting hard again and Dean likes that well enough to rub up against him nice and slow and a little slutty, but Sam sure isn’t complaining.

Sam reaches up and rubs over Dean’s lower lip with his thumb, worrying it a little, his eyes caught on the motion.

-Sweet, cruel mouth, he says with something distant in his voice, memories maybe, longing in there too.

Dean licks at Sam’s fingers and then nips, fast sharp teeth, not gentle. Sam hisses, but doesn’t move away. He narrows his eyes before going in for another kiss. Dean bites at his lips too, just enough to make sure Sam feels it, but Sam drops his weight down in retaliation and Dean is flattened under his very naked weight and that’s not really a punishment in anyone’s book.

Sam gives directions with his hands, palming Dean’s sides, making him want to turn over and Dean goes, rolls over feeling Sam sit up over him, ass planted securely on Dean’s lower thighs and he’s caressing along Dean’s back, big hands pressed flat, so Dean stretches his arms over his head, hands coming to rest against the wall, the rough smooth texture of old wallpaper almost soft to the touch.

Sam leans down, pressing his lips against Dean’s neck, licking a little at the bristle of Dean’s buzz cut at the very base of his skull. It’s all very slow and wet and dirty and just nice. Dean doesn’t mind the casual ownership of Sam’s teeth against his neck, nor the hands pressed flat against his shoulders, it’s all tactile and deeply animal and sort of soothing.

Sam is pressed against him, chest to back, pushing Dean deeper into the mattress and Dean moves under him, writhes a little, getting some contact for himself too, but mostly just to hear the harsh breath Sam draws in as they press together, because Dean knows what Sam likes too, knows that Sam is at home in his body in ways he never was as a kid, knows that Sam likes this, really seriously likes it, something Dean would not have predicted six months ago.

They can have this. Broken down motel room, too noisy, and both of them on the line of exhaustion but with that excess of energy that comes across as a little hyper just because they are both of them so fucking tired. Not too tired, though. Not like Dean is going to fall asleep during.

Sam touches him with a kind of firm relentless want that’s almost worshipful. It’s good, but it’s not all it could be and Dean needs it to be all it can be.

He reaches for one of Sam’s hands and finds his wrist, tugs at it with the kind of determination that makes Sam’s breath stutter out of him and grade into a low moan.

-Come on, Sammy, Dean finds himself saying.

Sam straightens himself out, raises himself up. His knee grazes along Dean’s thigh and then slides in between Dean’s legs and Dean opens for him, practiced and easy. Sam repositions himself between Dean’s thighs, presses Dean’s legs out and wide and he grabs a pillow from the side of the bed, gets it in under Dean’s hips and Dean settles, pulls his arms back and raises himself up on his elbows and hangs his head. The muscles along his shoulders pull, his neck tendons feels made of unyielding rubber and he’s tense still, but that’s getting better, the heat along his back makes everything better, Sam makes it all better.

Sam opens him in a slow tease, gentle circles at first, rubbing closer and closer and then just a fingertip dipping inside and it’s annoying how good the kid is at all this, like he’s done it before, a lot. He can read Dean’s body better than anyone Dean’s been with in his long and varied career and it’s a little off-putting, and someday Dean’s going to ask him about it, but not today, not right now, because, Jesus, he’s got better things to think about right now. Dean hikes his hips back a little, making Sam’s finger go deeper.

Sam’s other hand slaps the outside of Dean’s thigh, hard.

-Hey!

-Quit it, Sam says and his voice is rough and strung out. “Let me”.

-Fucking tease.

-Shut up, you like it.

Yeah, but that’s hardly the point. Actually Dean can’t much remember what the point is, skin grading hot and red on his thigh, Sam’s fingers inside him, flush breaking down his chest and he’s starting to feel that low pooling heat in his stomach that says now would be a good idea, but Sam is still working him open with just two fingers, so careful, not wanting to hurt Dean and that’s nice, but it’s not really necessary. Dean shifts his hips a little more, sideslithering motions, rubbing against the pillow, gives an almost moan on the exhale of a long breath. Sam stills when he hear that sound and Dean knows it does something for him, ‘cause of the heavy curse that Sam mutters right into Dean’s shoulder.

He’s bent over Dean again, keeping an inch of heated air between them, corkscrewing his fingers until he hits Dean’s good spot. Dean’s hips jerk back, that’s an involuntary motion on his part, pretty much the same way Sam’s name falls from his lips like another kind of curse and Dean is about to tell him to quit screwing around when Sam leans all the way over him and presses his forehead to Dean’s shoulder and says his name in that same dark rough voice but with a question somewhere in it.

Dean just grins down at the mattress and rolls his entire body against Sam’s, one long electric wave of seeking contact, seeking skin, forcing Sam’s fingers deeper still and he’s not saying anything other than yes with his whole entire body here, come on. Sam likes to hear some words though, Dean knows that. Sam likes to hear some pleading words along the lines of “now” and “Please” and all that stuff. Usually Dean gets it all rolled into one with just his brother’s name.

-Sammy, Dean says.

He can feel the shudder that ripples through Sam. That nickname that Sam used to hate so much has become his very favorite word when they’re like this. Sam is moving back a little and Dean can hear him get ready, the wet slick sound of Sam preparing, so he just breathes and lifts his head up, closes his eyes real tight and raises his hips, because Sam still has fingers at work and that’s good enough to make Dean forget how to breathe all the way right.

Sam’s fingers leave him with something like reluctance and a last lingering slide and then Sam presses forward and holds on to Dean’s hips, big hands folding all the way around, his thumbs settled high up on Dean’s ass. It’s always good, it’s always anticipation and a burn and a little pain and some of that Dean knows he’s learned to like more than he should. Sam takes it easy, Sam moves slow and even, smooth and controlled.

Dean grins down at the mattress again, this is more for him than for Sam. He braces his knees against the bed, his hands curling into fists and waits until Sam is just inside him before shoving himself back, hard, forcing the issue, just so he can hear that rough curse, just so he can get Sam to grip involuntarily hard at his hips, pressure enough to bruise and hurt and Dean going a little cross-eyed himself from the sudden searing scraping intensity of the feeling of Sam shoved all the way inside him like that.

-Fuck. Dean.

-Yeah.

They both breathe hard with it. Sam completely still and keeping Dean in place with force, hands pushing him down into the mattress to wait for the clenching pressure to ease and no matter how often they do this, no matter how many times Dean has Sam inside him or how many times Sam says his name like that, Dean can’t help feeling every time is like the first in its looping desperate shock of want and how right they are together.

-Come on, Sammy. Move, he says.

Sam does. Just a little pulse of his hips, a little nothing. He bends down, kisses at the side of Dean’s neck, pressing his half open mouth into Dean’s sweaty skin and there is a tiny sound underneath that, something that feels like Dean’s name, or maybe some other term of endearment that Dean won’t allow to be voiced fully. Dean moves against him, leans his head to the side, lifts one hand and takes a hold of Sam’s hair over his shoulder.

Sam drops himself down more firmly, his elbows on either side of Dean’s body, one hand under Dean’s chest, the grip on his shoulder a solid anchor and Dean has to press his knees out further and that opens him more, which makes everything so easy all of a sudden that he moans low and long. Sam echoes him, and the sound reverberates through Dean’s back and he’s rubbing against the mattress with each of Sam’s shallow thrusts.

It’s lazy, deep and slow, Sam’s hips up against him, sweat slicking them both over, Sam’s hair in a solid grip in Dean’s hand and Dean moving back against him as much as he can manage. Sam licks at his neck, bites at his shoulder, licks at the bites, murmurs into his skin, something about “good” and Dean has his eyes closed, because all he wants right now is to feel all that skin against his. He keeps Sam close by his hair.

Sam covers him completely like this and, fuck, that’s good. Dean never allows anything like this with anyone else, he’s too fucking pinioned, lax and pressed down and slurring his words ‘cause it’s so good. “Take care of you”, Sam says. That would have made Dean bridle with a anyone else. “Take real good care of you”, Sam says and he moves a little harder, his breath suddenly one long slow moan, Dean tightening his muscles in response and he’s smiling now, smiling turned away so Sam can’t see.

Dean can’t really do much except lay there and take it, which really isn’t bad at all, Sam all over him, deep in him, so deep he can feel it in his chest, Jesus Christ. Sam’s arm under him, the grip on his shoulder there to keep him in place, keep them locked together, and Dean isn’t looking to go anywhere, but he still holds on to Sam’s hair, just to make sure Sam gets that they’re in this together even like this, no matter what Sam thinks of his need to be in control.

-Gonna take care of me? Dean asks and his voice is a little strangled, he’s not getting a whole lot of air right now, Sam heavy above him.

-Yeah, real good, Sam answers and pushes harder, sets more of a real rhythm.

Dean gets shoved into it and dragged back by Sam’s hand wrapped over his shoulder. Dean hikes one leg up a little higher and Sam moans low into his neck. All this is good, good and solid and Jesus fuck, so fucking hot, but Dean isn’t getting all the way home with just humping the pillow under his hips even if Sam find the angle and hits him just right after a few more strokes.

Dean releases his grip on Sam’s hair a little, scratches over his scalp, twists his head, blindly seeking Sam’s mouth. They kiss at that neck-twisting awkward angle, stubble scraping and it sets sparks flying harder between them, Dean moving into it, licking over Sam’s mouth, doing everything he can to get his message across. Harder. Deeper. More. All the easy stuff, all the good stuff.

Sam gets it, he’s not stupid. Not at all. He braces, plants his knees, gets both hands on Dean’s hips and pulls them up still so deep inside and yeah, that’s better. Dean places one hand on the wall again so he can push back when Sam moves forward and now everything goes heavy and sweaty and heated and immediate. Fuck. Sam is giving it to him hot and hard, hands to Dean’s hips still and his head lowered so that Dean can feel his breath blown out over his lower back.

Dean has a hand on himself in no time. Sam doesn’t like it. He drags Dean’s hips to him and then lays his own hand over Dean’s so they’re both working him, and that’s good too, Sam hard and sloppy and just on the good side of rough. Dean is caught now between the best kind of rock and hard place and Sam’s fingers interlaced with his and guiding, taking over and how should he even want anything different?

-Was gonna go all nice and slow, Sam says.

Dean laughs out half a lung-full of air and presses back harder, fucking himself back onto Sam and then into their laced hands.

-Have we met? He slurs out with the next forced out half-breath.

Sam rumbles between a laugh and a groan and that sort of settles it because they work together, they just fucking work and it might be wrong on at least a few different levels and in the eyes of the world but that has nothing on how right they are, how Sam’s hand just fits over Dean’s and nothing is uncomfortable and nothing is awkward and it’s all synced up and lined in the pure gold of the moment.

Sweat in his eyes, muscles going taut and hot, and somewhere he’s starting to shake, shudder and god, this is what he’s been needing these past long few days, this is what leeches the sting out of being an outcast. If this is all they can have, all the safety and being wanted that’s on offer, he’s going to take it right along with Sam saying his name pressed hot and sweet against him.

One step out ahead scout and Dean is good at that. Good at making sure they’re safe, Sam to his left and swiveling sharp eyes into the shadows, more thorough looking for a deeper hidden threat. Good together, they’ve always been good together. Now, like this, Sam reading his body, anticipating where the pace will take them and mixing his honey with good smoke rough words and hard hands when needed, they are good together. It really is that simple.

It’s as bittersweet as they make it. It’s also good and hard now, and that’s what’s wringing those sounds out of Dean, that’s what’s making Sam answer him back the same way. Too bloody to be anything other than the two of them, steeped in violence and scratching anything good they can get from the embers of dying fires. It’s alright though, it’s okay. They are good together.

They fuck and kiss and fight with the same kind of intensity. That’s something born out of necessity and Dean likes it. Sam can handle it. No one else can. Dean never took the reins off this completely with anyone else, ever, and he’s willing to bet Sam hasn’t either. So sweet-begging for more and harder gets him just that until the air gets punched out of him with the driving force of Sam’s hips.

Dean feels the tense shift, balls drawing up and his muscles tightening into good solid knots and his rhythm slips, he’s uncoordinated and stupidly desperate for just a second before Sam gets him there and he lets go, lets go the long day, the impossible things, the stupid scares and the constant vigilance and for a few seconds all there is, is white blissful pleasure and he’s coming hard, Sam riding him through it, gentling just enough to make it all that much better.

He’s still there for Sam, seriously ass-up in the air there for him, urging him with some kind of moaned words, all saying “come on, get yours” and Sam does, clumsy pawing at Dean’s hips for a frayed moment before giving the last few rough thrusts into Dean’s still quivering body, rocking back, driving in hard. Dean feels the second he loses it, hands so tight, his whole body shuddering and shaking.

Sam’s hand trails from rib cage to hips a couple of times while he’s still twitching, soft slow and gentle somehow, ridiculous and good after all that hard and fast. They go down together on the bed, still joined and landing in a coordinated heap that makes Dean think of choreographed fight scenes. His mind is blown wide and silent and Sam is kissing over his shoulder.

They just lay there for a while waiting for their breathing to come back to something close to normal. Dean is wrung out and sore and sticky with come and about as mellow as he’s ever likely to get and Sam is still kissing and licking at his skin, tactile and physical and sweaty and given to an occasional quiver.

-We done now? Dean asks and he wishes he could fall asleep like this, stretched, marked, wet and with Sam still deep in him.

He can feel Sam smile against his skin and he smiles back in reply even is his forehead is resting on his own arm, turned so Sam can’t see him. Sam licks a little at his shoulder and blows a cool breath over his neck that makes him shiver.

-For now, Sam answers and pulls back so they can lay side to side.

They can’t fall asleep yet, though. There’s still shit that needs to be done. They have to ward the room, shower, ready their stuff if they have to make a break for it. Dean can’t sleep without a knife under his pillow anyway and fuck, they both need to shower and shave and get some clean clothes. They have to do all these things and they will because they are that trained, that disciplined and this, this thing right here, good as it is, can never be allowed to become a liability.

Dean raises himself up on his elbow and leans over Sam, takes in the softness of his relaxed face his unconscious sprawled out grace and moves in, kisses soft and slow, just once, just enough to shine some light in dark corners before moving back again.

-Shower, shave, wards and weapons, he says.

-Yeah, I love you too, asshole, Sam answers.

Dean shots him his best, most rakish smirk and rolls off the bed they’ve trashed.

They’ll sleep in the other, close as a pair of Siamese twins, Dean’s chest to Sam’s back, one hand on the knife and the other on Sam’s heart and tomorrow they’re going to get up and do it all over again.

Right now, though, Dean knows Sam’s eyes are on him as he walks naked towards the bathroom so he shakes his ass and sings pitched low and slower than he should “Lord have mercy, I'm burning a hole where I lay ‘cause your kisses lift me higher like the sweet song of a choir”.

He stops at the bathroom door, flicks the light switch inside and turns to watch Sam sprawled out like a promise on the bed, eyes burning fever hot at him.

-You coming or what? He asks.

Sam grins at him and gets up off the bed.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> It's "Burning Love" playing in the next room over and that's what Dean's singing too. I'm sure Elvis won't mind.


End file.
